


Up in Smoke

by acrimsondaisy



Category: The Blank Rune
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coming of Age, Family Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, M/M, Mild References to Teen Sexuality, Non-Chronological, People being messy, Pre-Canon, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, can be read as a standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29092062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrimsondaisy/pseuds/acrimsondaisy
Summary: The worst part was that it hadn't even come as a surprise. Not really. Phillip had allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security, of compliance, but truly, he had always known. Had always known that it couldn't last. That they'd be found out one day. That he was living on borrowed time.There were no happy endings in this village.Not for Rhy. Not for his mother or sisters. Not for him.This is a slow, introspective piece centering around his backstory and his family life. You could theoretically read this as a standalone, I think.
Relationships: Rhy Whitefang/Phillip Wardstone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Up in Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you so much, Phi <3  
> Secondly, here's a playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5p2UfnnQaVYYqzj1I5Y5h3?si=dIw43bGITiWzLulauFd-Bw
> 
> enjoy <3

Phillip had always known there was something wrong with him.

He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't held this truth within him, like an intrinsic part of himself, couldn't remember the first time it dawned on him that there was something off.

Perhaps it has always been there, underneath his skin, obvious for anyone to see. His inferiority written plainly on his face, like a particularly stubborn pimple.

As an infant, Phillip had been told, he had been the earliest of his siblings to be weaned off his mother's breast milk. Ysabel, in a rare moment of nostalgia, had reminisced about how she, still a child herself, barely even a girl, had nursed him in her lap and mixed his baby formula. That she had marveled at how small he was, smaller than a baby had any business being.

It was a lifetime away. He couldn't imagine her sitting down with him like that now. Couldn't imagine the smile she wore that day gracing her face now, no matter how melancholic.

But that was beside the point. Both of them were busy enough nowadays.

And if they weren't...

Phillip hugged his legs, rested his head on his knees, closed his eyes.

There was a lingering coldness in his bones. It lived in the walls of this house, weighing down on his chest every second of the day, suffocating him.

Some may call it fear, others perhaps, a lingering loneliness. Yet, for Phillip, it was just the certainty that he didn't belong there, his very home, trying to expel him. One day, he feared it would succeed.

* * *

“Ah, there you are. Come down here.”

His father's voice. Phillip's body startled to attention. His every muscle tensed up as he rushed to obey the command.

“Yes, sir!”

His posture was shit, his teeth clenched. Phillip had expected to receive some kind of punishment. The silence was killing him. But nothing happened.

“Good boy,” his father gave him a short clap on the shoulder, “Come, I've got something for you.”

The two of them walked in silence. Phillip's heart was stuck in his throat, part of him still expecting a trap to be sprung on him at any moment now. They arrived through the doors of the family shop, walking up to the register and pulling out the ledgers.

“Here,” his father opened them up, the sums and figures squished into the pages in Ysabel's tiny handwriting, economic, but only legible if you succumbed yourself to leaning in and squinting at the page.

“Is there... something wrong with it?” Phillip asked tentatively.

“Nothing at all, son,” he said with affected joviality, “Well perhaps for one thing – one day it'll be you who keeps them, not your sister.”

This took Phillip by surprise. His head turned to face his father who was looking down at him, a big grin on his face.

“I don't understand. I thought she was supposed to-”

The weight of his father's large hand slapped itself on to his back as the older man let out a hearty laugh. Phillip gulped. It seemed he was in an unusually great mood today and the boy wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

“Did you really think I was gonna pass my legacy to anyone but my son? Don't test the bounds of my humor, boy,” his smile dropped all at once, “As far as I'm concerned, you're the only heir I have. So don't fuck it up, you hear me?”

“Of course not, sir!” he was quick to say as to not imply that he had any objections at all. Inside though, his mind was reeling. Did Ysabel know about this? If she didn't he definitely didn't want to be the one to inform her. Fuck. She was gonna be furious, and he wouldn't even be able to claim that it was without cause.

“I keep her on the will, for now, so we've got her to manage it 'til you're old enough,” he chattered on as though he had read his mind, “She doesn't need to know about that. This is men's business.”

“I-” Foolishly, Phillip had started to protest, but glancing at his father's expression he hurried to swallow his objection down. “Of course, sir.”

“Better,” his father went on even as guilt settled into Phillip's stomach. This was no small betrayal and both of them knew that. “I want you to start familiarizing yourself with these.”

“Yes, sir,” Phillip said and moved to pick up the ledgers only for his father to slap his hand away.

“Not now,” he scoffed, “Come on.”

Phillip hurried to catch up with him as he started walking again. They were heading toward his study. His father sat down at the big armchair behind the desk. Unsure what to do, Phillip stood there, feeling awkward until his father motioned for him to take the seat opposite to him. Then, he pulled out one of his cupboard and presented him with a small box.

“It's time for you to start becoming a man,” his father opened the box and took out two large cigars. “You've been drifting about, wasting your time on distractions. You've gotten used to it. Gone soft. No more of that.”

His father took one of the cigars and lit them. He slid the lighter in Phillip's own direction before he leaned back and took a deep drag of it.

It was obvious what he wanted him to do, but Phillip, who hadn't even tried a cigarette in his life, still hesitated. Yet, it was futile. There was no way he was getting around this unscathed. And so he took both the lighter and the cigar, tried not to flinch at the open flame, inches away from his face. Then, he took a small puff of smoke. Tried to hold his breath for the first few seconds.

Until he couldn't hold it anymore and started coughing up a storm.

* * *

The first time he met the love of his life, he had told him he liked his hair. They were both children, then, still innocent, yet unsullied by passion. It seemed almost impossible now, to think that they hadn't known. They had no idea what they were starting, how much power it had, how much it would shape not only their own lives, but everyone else's as well. No – how much it would destroy.

Rhy had just reached out toward him and pulled one of his curls like it was a toy spring. Then, he had smiled at him, a big grin to show off the gap in his front teeth, safely tucked away under his pillow for the tooth fairy to collect. Phillip hadn't known what that was, but had nodded along anyway, eager to impress his new friend.

Then, Rhy had offered his hand, simple as that, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Phillip, unaware yet of the consequences of his actions would bring, had taken it, simple as that, and the two of them had run off to play.

The thing he remembered most vividly now was how warm his hand had been, how he could feel his pulse victory under his skin.

When later, he asked his sister, she had narrowed her eyes and told him that the tooth fairy only came for good little girls and boys who listened to their sisters, not naughty, ungrateful brats like him.

* * *

The village was in turmoil. It had been only a few days since the whole incident with Farina and still, people were jumpy, spoke only in hushed whispers of what had taken place.

Phillip gulped, already feeling guilty for euphemizing the event like that in his head. Farina had been a real person who had been living and breathing among them – until she had been chased out of the village for getting pregnant out of wedlock.

It wasn't fair, of course, it wasn't fair – but what was Phillip supposed to do about it? He barely knew the girl, she was little more than a stranger to him.

The same, however, could not be said about Rhy. His jaw clenched as he felt bile at the back of his throat. He hated himself for caring more about this than about the girl herself, but well – it wasn't like they were gonna give any kind of 'person of the year' award now, were they?

Rhy had for a while been rumored to be the father of the unborn child, presumably because the two of them were friends. Farina herself had denied the accusation, but well, that didn't really mean much, did it? He needed to hear it from Rhy himself.

“Hey.”

“Oh, good morning!” Rhy gave him his signature greeting. He was smiling, too, doing his best to look as bright and friendly as possible. Only by now, Phillip knew him better than that, knew to recognize that smile, not quite reaching his eyes, knew to listen to the slight crack in his voice. He was clearly shaken up. That much was understandable.

“I mean, not really, is it?” he said, “That whole thing with Farina. That was fucked up.”

Rhy paled and instinctively looked around, his eyes widening as he tried to make sure they were alone. Only then, did he give a small nod, the mask of a smile finally falling off. Phillip's chest swelled with pride, recognizing it for the gesture of trust that it was. “Yeah...”

Silence reigned between them. Phillip bit his lip, not quite sure how to proceed.

“About that...”

“Yes?”

Phillip looked down. “Did you- did you do it?”

“No, of course not,” the reply came quickly, almost automatically.

Phillip couldn't help it, he scoffed. The sound came out a short, cruel laugh. He saw Rhy flinch, but he just wasn't having it and shot him a look intended to say ' _Don't give me the same bullshit you give everyone else_ '.

“Um... did I do something wrong?”

“You tell me,” Phillip crossed his arms, “Look. I'm not going to judge you either way. It's okay. But as your... friend, I'd just like to know,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Were you the one to get Farina pregnant or not?”

Rhy was looking at him in earnest then, shifting his weight from one side to the other. “I don't know why everyone thinks I did,” Rhy admitted sheepishly, “I mean, I guess it's because I was hanging out with her and Grain. She was always very polite – but it really wasn't like that at all. Grain was much closer to her than I ever was.”

Phillip nodded, letting the words ruminate in his head. He had to admit... If Rhy was lying to him, then he was doing a damn good job at being convincing. That was, Phillip believed him.

“I was never interested in her that way, I didn't even notice when she started showing. I just thought she'd gotten a little pudgy,” Rhy shrugged, “And besides... I mean to be honest, at this point in my life, I'm not interested in any of the girls here, not in that way, at least.”

Then, he looked up at him. All at once, Phillip's heart stopped. Something about the way his eyes glistened in the light, the strong angle of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips...

Before Phillip knew it, he had already closed the distance between them, all but leaping toward the other boy and cupping his face in his hands. Rhy was warm in his palms. Without thinking, he pressed their lips together. Rhy froze beneath him for just a moment, just for a heartbeat, not even long enough for him to question himself, for Phillip to complete the thought of _Oh God, what have I-_

Rhy reciprocated with ease. He hooked a hand around Phillip's neck and fumbled the other one into his pocket, smiling into him. It made him want to devour him whole. Impatience seared through him, and he sank his fingers into his hair, held him in place, Phillip's hand around his arm like talons clutching the shoulder of a scarecrow.

The two of them parted, coming up for air at the same time.

“Wow...” Rhy breathed, smiling at him like a complete idiot. And for some reason that was incredibly infuriating to him. Phillip untangled himself from the other boy, pushing him away.

“Really? 'Wow'? That's all you have to say for yourself?” his voice sounded harsh, accusing even more so than when he was interrogating him about the girl's fate.

Rhy looked back at him, blinking, his expression completely unreadable. Phillip's hands were shaking. His entire body felt frozen in place. He wanted to scream, wanted to yell at him. _What does that mean? What are you doing? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?_

But all of his thoughts were evaporated in an instant, as Rhy said his next words.

“I think I'm in love with you.”

“What?”

Phillip felt his brain short-circuiting as though a field of static had occupied his mind, unable to think, unable to process anything that was happening. What the fuck had he just-

“I'm in love with you,” Rhy repeated with more confidence this time. He was smiling now, looking at Phillip with an earnestness that made his insides ache with longing.

“You can't be-” Phillip stammered, “You- you can't just stay stuff like that!”

“Why not?”

“Because... because-” Phillip stopped in his tracks, trying to sort out his thoughts through the violent brush that was now spreading over his cheeks. “You just can't!”

Rhy came closer again, took his hand in his, and looked him right in the eye. Phillip felt overwhelmed by the closeness of it all, while at the same time aching to be even closer.

“I can,” Rhy smiled, a bold, reality-defying smile. Phillip couldn't help but return it, infected by this temporary insanity. “I can and I will. I love you, I declare it so. And there's nothing anyone can do to change it.”

Then, he leaned in and kissed him again. Phillip eased into it, the corners of his lips tugged upward by that impossible smile.

* * *

3 am.

It was a simple need that drove Phillip out of his room or more simply put, he needed to use the bathroom. Not without its risks, not in this house. The teenager had to keep his ears perked for any footsteps in case he ran into his father.

But as he made his way back, there was a different noise that startled him to a stop. It was coming from Ysabel's room. He stopped. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it would only cause more conflict, but he couldn't help it.

He pushed open the door.

It was dark in her room, with only vague shapes visible in the low moonlight. Ysabel was curled up in her bed.

Soft sobs were coming from her direction. That's what the sounds were, he realized now. His sister was crying.

His eyes cast down. His heart constricted. Crushed by this knowledge.

Phillip shut the door and walked away.

* * *

“Hey!” Phillip ran out to the road, following his older sister in quick strides, “It's my turn to take the car!”

Ysabel turned around. “I just need to drop something off. Won't take long,” she said, “You can have it right after.”

Phillip crossed his arms. “That's the exact same thing you said last time. And look how that turned out.”

“That was different. This time, it's really just-”

“Uh-huh, and why should I believe you?”

Ysabel narrowed her eyes. “Believe me or not, at the end of the day, I'm still the one with the keys,” she said, “So it looks like you'll have no choice but to take me at my word.”

“Ha! Have fun saying that again when I tell Dad about this.”

It was an empty threat and she knew it. “Well, then, what are you waiting for, you little shit?”

It was a standstill, the two of them, glaring at each other from a distance, their arms crossed as they waited for someone to make the next move, the tension between them was something one could have cut with a knife.

But instead of a sharp object, it was a soft giggle that cut the air between them. The two siblings whirled around, only to find their little sister had joined them, trying to stifle a laugh.

“What?” Phillip's voice was hardened by his own irritation. Still, Carine didn't seem to mind.

“You guys are making the same face!” she chirped brightly, looking between them. Then, she skipped away again, back into the house, as if nothing happened.

A second of stunned silence.

Phillip turned toward Ysabel. Ysabel stared back at him. He could picture it exactly. Her wide-eyed expression mirrored on his own face. The bags under his eyes. The tension in both their shoulders.

Without warning and almost at the same time, the siblings erupted into laughter. It was loud and incredulous, joyful and freeing, flooding him with relief as he flung his head backward and leaned into his sister's shoulder. It took a few more minutes for the two of them to calm down and get a hold of himself again.

“Man, she really is something else,” he said, looking back at the spot Carine had just disappeared from, echoes of his laughter still following after him.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd wonder if she was adopted,” his sister agreed, smiling now, their earlier squabble all but forgotten. “No way this family of grumps and assholes produced someone like her.”

* * *

There was a memory the week after the first time he stole his elder sister's black nail polish, painting his toes in the dark so no one could catch him. It had worked, too. Ysabel had made her way straight to Carine, not even glancing at Phillip as a possibility. Or maybe it was just that same moth, Phillip wasn't quite sure. Perhaps it hadn't even been the same year, even, his mind making up a connection that wasn't there before.

If you asked him, he wouldn't be able to tell you how old he was, not exactly. Most of his childhood blurred together now, if it wasn't entire lost in his memory.

He had asked Rhy about it once, how much he remembered from his childhood, and he started rambling on about summer festivals and scabbed knees, and his mother's cherry pie. Blurred together a bit, yes, but still its right and proper order.

All the while his lover had looked at him, his eyes dreamy, full of sweetness and nostalgia.

And even though Rhy, of course, was beautiful, and his voice was like honey, smooth, and bright, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine every time he closed his eyes and allowed himself to just listen and let himself go to the soft echo of it. And even though the two of them were alone, shielded from view, safe, finally safe – or at least as safe as two boys, hands intertwined and helplessly in love, could ever be in this wretched town.

There was still something about the way Rhy spoke so easily of his past, the way his eyes sparkled with joy when he recounted a memory or other, the way that fondness snuck into his voice whenever he mentioned his family or one of his childhood friends. Something that turned it all sour. Something that reached inside of Phillip, grabbing hold of the ugliest, and most twisted part of him, and filled him with jealousy and resentment.

* * *

“Come here, you little brat!”

His sister was yelling, chasing him through the room, wielding a pair of scissors, blades shimmering dangerously in the living room light.

Phillip must've been about seven or eight, definitely no older than nine.

“Noo...” he was squealing, desperately trying to get away, to put some distance between them.

“It's just a fucking haircut,” Ysa groaned, clearly exasperated with him, “It'll grow back, for God's sake.”

“Hey! You're not supposed to say bad words! And you're not supposed to take the Lord's name in vain, either!” Phillip may have been small, but he was still small enough to repeat the rules given to him without question, “I'll tell Dad!”

Ysabel's expression hardened all at once. “Well, Dad's not here right now,” she said through gritted teeth, “Which makes me the boss right now.”

Phillip looked helplessly to his mother who made no move to dispute this claim, wasn't even paying proper attention to what was going on. Someone had turned off the TV and still, the woman kept staring at the empty screen, her eyes unfocused.

Ysa, meanwhile, had taken advantage of his moment of distraction to close the distance between them, and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, trying to drag him off to the bathroom. Phillip kicked his feet, trying to wriggle free of her grasp.

“Come on,” she hissed, “If you don't let me cut your hair, we'll both get in trouble!”

But Phillip paid no mind to her pleas. Instead, he bit into her hand, forcing her to let go of him. She let out a yelp. “You little shit! I'll-”

It was at that moment they heard a rustling at the door. Both kids froze and quickly untangled from one another, hurrying to smooth over any evidence of their fight.

Seconds later, the door opened for Lars Wardstone to greet his young son and his teenage daughter in the living room. Another man might've acted differently. Perhaps Wheat Javison came through the door whistling a happy tune on his lips. Maybe Simon Whitefang stepped in with a soft smile, perhaps he kissed his wife on the cheek as a greeting.

But Wardstones were made of different stuff.

“What's this?” the man narrowed his eyes.

“I told you to cut his hair already, so what's the deal?” he turned to Phillip. Instinctively, the boy stumbled backward, taking refuge behind his sister's skirt. “Is the boy giving you trouble? Being a sissy?”

“No, I told him he had to do this homework first so I could have enough time to get done around the house,” Ysabel lied without missing a beat, “But he's done now. I was just about to-”

A harsh, sudden sound rattled through his ear. It took Phillip a moment to realize it was skin clashing against skin. His father had walked up and slapped Ysabel square across the face.

That settled all argument, dispelled all words from the air. She simply tightened her jaw and made her way to the bathroom, and he, in turn, followed without a fuss.

Ysa was ruthless with his hair, cutting it down to less than an inch, even shaving it down on his sides. Phillip wanted to protest, wanted to argue that surely, she could keep it a bit longer still, without risking their father's wrath.

But then he caught a glimpse of her expression in the mirror and the blood froze in his veins. Phillip didn't have the words to describe it, he only knew he never wanted to see it again.

* * *

“Are you done yet?” Phillip clicked his pen impatiently as he watched Rhy work. His boyfriend was leaning over his papers, face crumpled up in concentration, the end of his pencil in his mouth, almost chewed completely through. The gesture reminded him of something that definitely wasn't family-friendly at all. _Damn_. He shouldn't have been allowed to look so fucking cute...

“Sorry, I'm trying – it's just a bit tricky,” Rhy shook his head, gave him an apologetic smile, “Math isn't exactly my strong suit.”

Rhy looked back down at his worksheet, staring it down as though he could materialize his answers through willpower alone. He was biting his lower lip, running a hand through his soft, tousled hair.

 _Goddamn_. Phillip really didn't think he could take this much longer. This view was driving him crazy. It didn't help matters much that he could be quite safe to assume that the two of them were alone now, left to themselves. Sure, the homework was overdue, but he was already done with his own and Rhy...

Rhy was currently tilting his head to the side, exposing his neck ever so slightly...

Fuck it.

“Hand these to me!”

Before his boyfriend could even respond to the request, Phillip had already reached over the table and snatched the sheets from under his hands. Phillip looked over them, scanning the questions and the attempts Rhy had already made. Groaning in frustration, Phillip realized that half of the work was wrong. Without stopping to explain, Phillip started jotting down the answers, scribbling the formulas as quickly as he could.

His mother might recognize his handwriting on Rhy's homework, sure. Or she might not. And even if she did, he was hard-pressed to imagine that she'd care all that much. Either way, it was a problem for his future self to deal with.

“There. Done.”

He set down the pen in triumph and looked over at his boyfriend, who stared at him in surprise. “Oh, thanks. You didn't have to?”

There was no holding back now. Phillip tackled him before Rhy could finish speaking, all but leaping at him from across the table to finally, _finally_ kiss him. Rhy made a startled sound, but he could feel him smiling mischievously against his lip, and soon enough, eagerly returning the kiss, burying his hands in Phillip's hair.

_Yes. Perfect._

This was all that he wanted, all the happiness he could find. Out of all the places he knew, all the places in the world, the only one where he really wanted to be was right here, in Rhy's arms. He wanted to savor this moment, drinking in his taste.

Sugar. Sunshine. Secrecy.

But even this moment had to end. Even two secret lovers, starved of each other's company had to come up for air, even as Phillip wanted nothing more than to fill his lungs with nothing but Rhy's kisses.

“You know, I'm never gonna get better at it if you keep doing my work for me,” Rhy teased, struggling to contain his smirk.

“Tough luck,” Phillip replied and kissed him again.

* * *

Whenever his father was out of town, Phillip cherished the moment of brief respite. At this point, he wasn't so naive as to believe himself to be safe in his absence, but still, there was a weight lifted off his chest.

It was an ordinary day. He and Ysabel were working in the shop, her behind the counter because she had always been better at keeping track of the finances, and him, sorting through the stacks because he was more particular about the order they were in, when Rhy came knocking on the back door, with the produce from his parent's farm. This was the summer after their families had arranged Carine's engagement and the two of them had been making sure to be extra careful with all the extra attention on Rhy. So, Phillip didn't smile at him, kept his head down, didn't even say goodbye after his sister was done saving everything into their system.

It was only after Rhy had left and Phillip believed himself in safe silence again when Ysabel spoke up. “I don't like that kid,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else, “I don't like him one bit.”

“What? Why?” he squealed, too agitated to regulate his voice yet. When he realized his mistake, he was quick to clear his throat, trying again. “I mean – he's nice enough.”

He shouldn't have been surprised, really. The likelihood of his older sister getting along with his boyfriend had been abysmally low in the first place, and had plummeted down into the negatives after the engagement dinner when Rhy, in an attempt to establish familiarity had greeted her with 'Good morning, Bells' – and Ysabel, who to him up to this point Miss Wardstone, and to her siblings sometimes Ysa, or when things got especially bad 'bitch', but never anything as soft or chirpy as Bells, had glared holes into him the entire rest of the dinner party.

“Please, don't tell me you buy that cheap-shot boy-next-door act,” Ysa scoffed, “You're smarter than that.”

Phillip swallowed, trying to grapple with the conflicting emotions welling up inside of him. Ysa was hesitant to give out compliments, and even more hesitant to let her guard down or invite him into a moment that required solidarity and trust.

So of course, Phillip had to go out and ruin it.

“You're just being paranoid. There's no reason to get so up in arms about him. Rhy's fine, I promise,” he said, “Maybe learn to loosen up a little. In my experience, you don't like anyone here.”

Phillip knew he had fucked up. He knew it in the way her jaw tightened, the way she crossed her arms and shot him a look of frustrated betrayal.

“Come on,” her voice was louder now, though not quite yelling, “He's supposed to marry our little Carine. Doesn't that bother you?”

A shrug. “Not particularly,” he lied. It did bother him. Quite a bit actually – just not for the reason that she was implying.

“Well, I don't trust him.”

“You don't trust anyone,” Phillip rolled his eyes, “Got that whole edge lady thing going on. Call it what you want. Caution. Hysteria. Being abrasive.”

“Fuck off.”

He raised a brow. _See_?

Ysabel made a _tsk_ noise, before she turned toward him again, trying one last time. “You don't fucking get it. Look, I'm just-” she ran a hand through her hair and let out a breath, struggling for words. All at once, he could see the vulnerability she usually kept hidden, a helplessness that now rose to the surface, “I'm worried about Cary, about her future. Aren't you scared for her? Aren't you mad at this deal she had no say in? Aren't you ashamed defending this glorified fuckboy above your own little sister?”

“He's not a-”

“ _Please_. He's clearly hiding something,” she muttered darkly, “That squeaky clean image. Those fake smiles... There's a queer look about him.”

Phillips's blood turned to ice, his ears buzzed and his head with the effort of trying to conceal his reaction. He could hear his own heartbeat, echoing in his throat.

“You're being delusional, Ysa,” he replied.

“Of course, I'm just crazy. Maybe I'm even on my period!” his sister threw up her hands, “I shouldn't have expected any different...”

“I- I'm sorry.”

She sighed. “No, you're not, you're just sorry I'm mad at you. But that's okay. I don't know what I expected,” she said, “If you're a man and you fit in, then nothing you do is ever gonna be questioned. You can get away with whatever you want. Doesn't matter! Fuck, I'm sick and tired of golden boys.”

Phillip frowned. This sounded... “Ysabel... Did someone-”

She let out a short, hollow laugh, that died just as quickly as it had emerged. Phillip looked down, trying to banish the sight from his field of view.

“Carine is different, you know that. She's stupid and annoying and naive and innocent. She doesn't know what the fuck it's like,” finally she turned again, fully facing him now, “And, don't want some fucking idiot to take that away from her.”

Shit. Phillip bit his lip. “Ysa?”

“What?”

“I get you. Seriously, I don't want her to get hurt, either,” he paused, trying to sort out his thoughts. Phillip didn't want his sister to feel like he was dismissing her – but still, she was simply wrong, projecting her own fears and insecurities onto Rhy, who was completely innocent, “But I know Rhy better than you do. We're... friends, I guess. He's a good guy – he wouldn't hurt her.”

There was a pause now, Ysabel's face clouded in shadow. “You say that... But he already hurt one girl.”

Phillip furrowed his brow, his mind drawing completely blank. “What are you talking about?”

His sister was glaring at him now. “Don't you remember Farina?”

“Oh, that old rumor...” his shoulders sagged in relief.

“Oh, so that's just a rumor now?” she challenged. “Farina's a real person, you know? I still remember the day she was chased out with torches and pitchforks, even though it was him who got her pregnant in the first place.”

“But he didn't.”

Ysabel narrowed her eyes. “And you know that on what account? His words? His winning smile?” a scoff, “What makes you so sure?”

Phillip opened his mouth to respond – and then swiftly closed it again. There was a dilemma he found himself stuck in now: he had absolutely no doubt in his mind that he was correct – but he couldn't prove it. Or rather, didn't want to prove it. He could've told her that Rhy was about as gay as they got and that the two of them had been dating and devoted to each other for years now. And maybe... just maybe he should. He wanted to trust his sister. If anything, Ysabel didn't seem to be a fan of the village's established norms, either.

_There's a queer look about him._

Phillip remained silent. His sister let out a breath and though she had won that battle, she just seemed more disappointed than anything else.

“He could've fessed up, you know,” Ysa's voice was quieter now, “Even if you're right and he had nothing to do with it. Sure, he might've had to marry her, but people would've glossed over it soon enough. She would've still be there, at least,” Ysabel shrugged, looking away, “People don't marry for love around these parts, anyway...”

* * *

Phillip's sleeping schedule was a product of utter artificiality, perfectly crafted for maximum avoidance. The fact that his father didn't insist on all of them eating breakfast together as a family (likely because he liked to stay up) was perhaps one of his only redeeming qualities. And such, even though Phillip was more naturally an early riser, he had made a habit to stay up late at night, rising only at about eleven, sometimes sleeping in as late as noon. It was a practice that had saved him well.

So why had he abandoned it?

Well... there was the view from his window. Phillip had discovered it about a week ago, by accident, really. His curtains were usually drawn. The dislike between him and nature was mutual. He avoided the outdoors at all costs and in turn, nature had decided to clog up his nose as soon as the first flowers of spring decided to bloom.

Carine liked to tease him about that, called him the Count, and suggested he'd burn up in the sun if we went out there, or – if she was feeling particularly bratty, even throwing garlic cloves at his face.

It was true, though, most of his time, Phillip spent in his room, cloaked in darkness. So it was by coincidence, really, that he opened his window that day. He could hear his father's footsteps outside and hadn't wanted to risk his ire by showing his face there. So instead, he decided to discard his trash – candy wrapper and a few dirty tissues – in a more discreet, though perhaps less ethical way.

He opened the window, looked outside, and stopped in his tracks. The sun glared in his eyes and Phillip had to blink, trying to adjust to it. But that view... it was something he was intimately familiar with. It was the Whitefang farm, nothing special about it. Yet, although it was empty at the moment, his heart skipped a beat.

That night, he stayed up, his new knowledge ruminating in his stomach like an ulcer as his initial excitement had twisted itself into guilt and anxiety. This was long before he had accepted his own feelings back when he thought they were unrequited, when he thought that Rhy would react to it with disgust were he ever to find out. So in still nursing that desire, in still yearning, dreaming, daring to want anything at all, Phillip was also riddled with guilt. He felt like a deviant, a dangerous pervert, like he should be stopped, locked away.

But he couldn't stop himself. When the sun rose that morning, the boy carefully – hesitantly – pulled back the curtains.

And there he was.

Rhy had just come out, barely stepping out into the field. Phillip recognized him first from his silhouette. Firm, with an upright stance, glittering in the morning light. A landmark that drew his eye, trapping it, like a moth, drawn to a fire.

He sat there, watching him work from afar for a few hours until Rhy left the field again and returned home, presumably to eat breakfast.

Phillip stayed there for a little while after, breathing in the morning air. There was a spark in it, something magical, something dangerous.

From that day on, Phillip had somehow found himself on that same spot, at the brink of dawn, watching Rhy do his fieldwork. There was still guilt, still shame in his actions. But with time and repetition, he numbed this feeling down, pulling those hours in the early morning into an entirely different realm. One that – at least in his mind – existed entirely outside the current reality.

And besides, it was strangely relaxing, sitting there, watching the plants get watered, the soil tilled. To watch the boy he loved in his daily routine, doing ordinary work.

Only one day it all fell apart.

It was a day like any other. A Wednesday, the very middle of the week. Phillip was sitting on the windowsill, leaning against the frame, one of his legs casually dangling out of the window. Rhy was working on the field as he always did, brandishing his scythe. He was just as beautiful as he always was, golden skin, soft tousled hair, and a sturdy frame. The sun had only just risen. Everything was fine.

And then, Rhy looked up, right into his direction. Phillip froze, his entire body tensing up. He held his breath, foolishly believing that if he didn't move, he wouldn't see him. And all such absurd dreams were crushed when Rhy looked right at him, gave him a big, goofy grin, and waved.

Immediately, Phillip drew back the curtains and jumped off the windowsill. His movements were fast, and clumsy so that he fell flat on his face. Phillip had to bite the inside of his cheeks to help from crying out.

 _Fuck_. His face flushed with embarrassment as his mind finally caught up with what had just happened. His stomach twisted and shut his eyes. Phillip thought he was going to be sick. He fucked up, he fucked up, he ruined it all. Shit. Rhy was going to think he was a fucking freak, some sort of sick stalker. And would he even be wrong? He wasn't sure.

For the rest of the week, he went out of his way to avoid the other boy. He had hoped his efforts would've gone unnoticed, and so when he was walking home one day from an errand his father had sent him on, the last thing he expected was Rhy, suddenly walking up beside him.

“Good morning!” he chirped, “Long time no see!”

Phillip looked up at him, like a deer caught in headlights. “Um. I guess.”

“Bet you've been busy!”

Unsure of what was going on, Phillip only shrugged. When Rhy kept looking at him, waiting for him to say something, he replied. “Not really. I mean, it's been pretty much the same as always.”

“Oh,” Rhy's voice was small. All at once, the bright smile had vanished from his face. He looked lost, disappointed. Phillip bit his lip. Had he said something wrong?

“Are you- are you mad at me, Phillip?”

“What? No...”

There was a pause. “You've been avoiding me.”

It wasn't a question. Phillip swore and looked down, trying to hide the flush of embarrassment that was slowly creeping up at him.

“And you've stopped watching me,” Rhy went on, “In the mornings, I mean.”

Phillip's throat went dry. “You... you noticed?”

“Yeah!” Rhy replied brightly, as though there was nothing at all wrong with the statement, “I thought it was really nice, having someone there to keep me company while I take care of the field work. It can get kind of boring doing it alone, but when you're there, I-” Rhy stopped, seemingly mulling over the right words. “I don't know. It's just nice.”

“So you... don't mind?”

“Not at all!” he gave him another warm smile, “If I'm being honest... I missed your face.”

And that was all there was to it.

The morning routine continued, just like that. Rhy would work, and Phillip would watch him from above in these magical hours of the morning that belonged only to the two of them.

Only now, whenever their eyes met Phillip smiled back.

* * *

A sudden knock on his door. Shit. Phillip jumped off the windowsill, frantically looking around in case there was anything obviously incriminating in his room.

“Phillip, Phillip, Phillip!”

His panic deflated, turning into annoyance and frustration as he recognized his little sister's voice. “What is it?” he grumbled, “Yay! You're awake!”

“Trust me, I wish I wasn't”, he muttered as he walked up to the door, opening it only an inch. “What do you want?”

“Come hang out with me!”

“No.”

Phillip moved to close the door again, but Carine had already jammed her foot between it and the frame, preventing him from shutting her out once again.

“Come on... you never want to hang out!”

“I'm busy.”

“The lake's frozen over” she kept on, undeterred, “We can finally go ice-skating!”

Phillip grimaced. Making a fool of himself on skates, right in front of his baby sister? That was about the least appealing thing he could think of.

“Go ask Ysabel.”

“She already said no.”

“Go ask your friends, then.”

Carine staggered and took a step back. She looked up at him again, her lips pouting, her eyes large and pleading.

“Pleease?”

Phillip narrowed his eyes. This puppy-dog routine wouldn't work on him, he refused!

“No.”

“But I don't have anyone else to ask...”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. For a second, he wavered, not quite sure what to say to that.

But then, he just lowered his head and closed the door again.

* * *

The Hunger Games were an inescapable reality, even in a village as remote and backwoods as this one. Every year, Phillip dreaded their announcement, every year, he stood terrified of the reapings and tried to keep his head down as the entire village watched almost two dozen children slaughtered on live television.

This was the first year he and Carine had traveled to the reaping by themselves as their eldest sister had quietly aged out of the system. That didn't make the whole ordeal any less nerve-wracking.

And now that the Games had begun, it was the hot topic of every instance of small-talk, every family dinner conversation, Phillip should be used to it by now, but he wasn't.

Especially not since this year's Games had come with another complication for him. A knife twisting itself into his gut. One, that if he ever acknowledged it, would kill him in an instant.

“Now this is just sickening,” his father yelled at the TV-Screen. There it showed a mutated deer, with antlers of metal chasing down two unfortunate tributes. But it wasn't the muttation that his father was protesting nor the fact that these teenagers had been thrown to the slaughter. No, of course not. Those things were supposed to be normal. No, it was the simple act of the two boys holding hands, their fingers intertwined in such a way that it couldn't be interpreted as anything other than romantic.

“They should just kill these degenerate freaks and be done with it!”

These were about the kindest words that his father had used to express his disgust, his hatred for people who, unbeknownst to him, were just like his own son. Phillip stared down at his fork, trying his best to keep his expression completely blank. Although he had long since suspected it, knowing that his father wouldn't hesitate to through him to the wolves were he ever to find out... it was disconcerting to say the least.

If only it had just been his father who spouted such beliefs. To make matters worse, he had heard them echoed throughout the village, to the point where Ray had boldly proclaimed that if any of these 'sickos' ever made their way up here, he'd beat them blue and bloody.

The only person who seemed entirely unaffected by this development was his boyfriend. Rhy had avoided talking about the whole thing, sure, but that wasn't any different than his behavior during any other Games, preferring not to discuss matters of death and suffering which he had once dubbed to Phillip as 'distasteful'. If anything, the boy had been more chipper than before, skipping through the street, eager to tell anyone who came by what a great day it was.

After a while, Phillip just couldn't take it anymore.

“Rhy, we're alone,” he snapped at him, “You can stop acting like it doesn't bother you!”

His boyfriend, infuriatingly, only cocked his head to the side, looking confused. “Like what doesn't bother me?”

“Don't play dumb, you piece of shit!”, he hissed. His voice came out louder than he wanted to and he almost startled himself with his own volume. Phillip looked around, checking if they were still alone. “I mean... the two boys in the Games.”

“Oh, you mean the ones who are love!”

“Shh... keep your voice down,” Phillip said, looking behind him again, “But yeah... everyone's up in arms about them. Have you heard what people are saying?”

“It would be almost impossible not to,” Rhy replied, “I don't think people like them very much...”

“No, Rhy, they don't,” Phillip crossed his arms, “So why doesn't it affect you? How come you manage to be so... so happy despite knowing that everyone hates us?”

There was a spark in Rhy's expression now. Something daring. Something bold. “Isn't it obvious?” he said, “We're not alone! There's people like us out there!”

* * *

His mother hadn't always been like that. Lifeless. Numb. Weary. There used to be a time when there had been a spark in her eye. Not one of joy or happiness. It was all but impossible to find such things in a household like theirs. Phillip himself had long ago given up all hope that he would ever truly achieve anything close to it, not as long as he lived in this village.

But his mother used to be... awake. Filled with energy, spite, hope for something better. Perhaps even love for her children, angry. Before this eternal numbness she had succumbed herself to.

It flooded on the very edges of his memory, the way it had happened. So blurry, it might as well have been a dream.

It had been shortly after his little sister was born. Carine had been so small back then, so tiny, not even bigger than his forearm. He remembered being completely enraptured by the way her little hand had wrapped itself around his finger, as though trying to shake his hand in greeting, always happy to see him.

Carine had been a sweet baby, barely crying or making a fuss. She wanted to be held constantly, clutching on to human contact like it was the umbilical cord which kept her alive.

From the very first second, she had molded herself into something easy to love, something you couldn't help but want to take care of. Couldn't help but want to protect.

Of course, it wasn't enough.

It never was.

Their father had been livid, frustrated with the fact that his wife hadn't provided him with another heir. Their mother, in turn, had slowly shut herself off. At first, it had been a slow process, the way she still held on to her past self, desperately trying to stay there.

He remembered one night, his mother had kept him close, stroking his hair, whispering in his ear. “You stay here,” she had whispered, “Don't leave. Please don't leave.”

But of course, it was all doomed.

His mother was sick, she was in pain, and she needed help. Real help.

But while her children couldn't provide that, her husband didn't want to.

And so, one day, she had simply shut herself off from the world, as simple as flipping a switch.

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit_.

Phillip's heart was beating into his chest as he touched the spot on his neck, even like this, gently, with just the tip of his fingers, he could feel the sore spot there. If that was showing already, he was fucking done for. Phillip had no way of explaining the hickey away, not with the pattern his bruises should take, not without a single approved partner anywhere in the village.

He pulled up, tried to glean at his reflection in the sheer glass of his window, and his heart sunk. Even like this, he could see it. The dark spot, right beneath his throat would be impossible to mistake for anything else.

It wasn't a place where he could hide it easily, even under a hoody, and it was far too warm to wear something like a turtleneck. A scarf wasn't an option, either. It would be snatched away in an instant, trying to glean at what he had to hide.

He only had one option left.

Phillip was standing on his tip-toes, his head buried in the hood of his sweater.

“Carine. Hey. Psst, Carine,” his tone was hushed, a sort of staged whisper as he was trying to get her attention through the door, afraid that knocking would make too much noise for them to be left alone.

Fortunately, it was enough. Soon, he heard rustling from the room, footsteps coming closer until finally, his little sister opened the door.

“Philly?”

Instead of explaining himself, the teenager lifted his head, exposing his neck so she could see the bruise plastered right in its center. He could see her head tilt, studying it, her eyes widen as she realized what she was looking at. God, this was embarrassing. Next time, he needed to ask Rhy to be more careful – if he could remember to stay on task in the heat of the moment, not to lean into it, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Oh,” his sister says, “Sure, come in.”

He blushed, following her in, only stopping to close the door behind him. Carine motioned for him to sit on the bed.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly, “Can you... help me with that?”

She nodded, already walking over to rummage through her make-up bag. The silence was thick and heavy between them. If she asked him how the mark had gotten there... he wasn't sure what he was going to say. He only prayed that she wouldn't. Did she suspect anything? Maybe she didn't. After all, this wasn't the first time that he had taken advantage of her makeup skills to hide a bruise or another violent mark on his skin. Perhaps she'd assume it was the same this time and think nothing of it.

But then there was the way she was looking at him – gentle and alert, like she was mending a baby bird and didn't want to spook it. And there was something else there. Was it knowing? Pity? Disgust?

Phillip felt his heartbeat quicken. It took an excruciatingly long time for Carine to speak up again.

“Dad must have been really pissed,” she said her voice careful, measured. She bit her lip, like there was something else holding her back, but then she just looked down. “I mean... It's a nasty spot to hit, it's all.”

“Um. Yeah,” he glanced down, though there was no weight behind it. His shoulders sagged in relief, as the anxiety left his body, replaced only with the gratitude of being spared further inquiry.

Carine kept looking at him, as though she expected him to say something else, but when he didn't, she just sighed and took up the foundation.

“Alright. Hold still now.”

* * *

“You're not supposed to have these.”

It was cloudy outside, a bit chilly, too. Still, Phillip needed to get out of the house. That building was threatening to suffocate him, crushing the young man under the weight of its misery, its fighting, its expectations. Of all people, he hadn't expected to find Ysabel here, in his spot of recluse, by the trees next to the silo.

She looked up at him, taking another drag from the cigarette that she must've stolen from the shop or at least sneaked away somehow.

“Fuck off.”

“Chill out,” he let out a sigh and leaned against the tree beside her, “It's not like I was gonna rat you out or anything.”

“Hm.”

For a while, the two of them stood there as Ysa quietly puffed at her cigarette. Phillip looked down and shifted his feet.

“Father ordered the doctor to our house in the evening,” his sister said after a while, “So it's probably a good idea to stay out of the way.”

“Oh. Thanks... Is something wrong?”

Ysabel shook her head. “No, it's just about Mom. He's got it in his head again that if he makes enough noise about 'fixing' her, old Adam's just wave a wand and she's gonna transform into his chipper, obedient housewife. Maybe even deliver him another boy while she's at it,” she let out a short, bitter laugh, “As if!”

Phillip frowned. “Do you really think there's no hope for her at all?”

His sister turned to look at him. Her hair was unkempt, barely held together in a messy up-do, and deep eye-bags weighed down her face. “Not if she doesn't get any real help. Not if she stays in this godforsaken shithole of a village,” she scoffed, “One thing's for sure, the pulls definitely aren't gonna bring her back.”

Shit, she was right. Of course, she was right. But still, having it put so bluntly...

“That's... really bleak.”

“That's life, kiddo,” she took one last drag of her cigarette before she threw it to the ground, crushing the orange glean under her heel, “Wanna know something else that's really bleak? I'm gonna be just like her someday.”

“Ysa...” he bit his lip, trying to find the right words.

“Keep it. No use sugarcoating it,” she shrugged, looking away.

“You don't know if-”

“Shut up,” she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, “I don't wanna hear it, alright?”

“If you say so...”

Another period of silence. His hands buried themselves in his pockets. It was colder now, without the smoke.

“Hey, kiddo. Promise me one thing, alright?” his head rose to meet her gaze, but she wasn't even looking into his direction at all, her gazed fixed to somewhere in the far distance, “Get out of this shithole.”

* * *

It was all over.

This was it. After this, Phillip's life was never going to be the same ever again. If he was even granted life at all.

He couldn't come home again.

His father, he...

Phillip swallowed. Closed his eyes. He felt something inside of his throat close up. But there was no use. This was real. This had really happened.

His father was going to kill him.

He was going to kill his own flesh and blood.

And he wasn't going to hesitate for even a second.

Phillip knew that with absolute certainty. He had barely escaped by the skin of his teeth tonight. Could still hear the echo of his father screaming at him that he'll be back. There was nowhere for him to hide.

The worst part was that it hadn't even come as a surprise. Not really. Phillip had allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security, of compliance, but truly, he had always known. Had always known that it couldn't last. That they'd be found out one day. That he was living on borrowed time.

There were no happy endings in this village.

Not for Rhy. Not for his mother or sisters. Not for him.

And the second his father barged in his room today, with that knowing gleam in his eyes, the slurs dripping from his frothing mouth like acid.

That's when he had known.

That it was all over.

The blood on his mouth tasted like rust at the back of his throat. He could feel the veins pulsating on his neck, the bruises aching against them. Where his skin had been battered. Sliced open by the sheer force of his father's blows.

Now that the adrenaline was slowly starting to wear off, that the shock response, the natural instinct of his body to protect itself was slowly waning, now he was greeted only by pain.

The worst of it was in his face.

Phillip shuddered to look in a mirror. Afraid of what he would see there.

There was swell. There was blood. There were bruises. And a burning ache that he couldn't quite identify. Didn't even want to think about it.

He walked limping. Holding his stomach. Gritting his teeth so he wouldn't make a sound. Wouldn't whimper in pain.

His father had been right. There was nowhere for him to hide. No place for him to go.

And that's how he found himself here, knocking desperately at his boyfriend's window. He still remembered this moment now, more clearly than anything else. How desperate he had been, how weary how tired. How afraid.

It had been such an innocent thing at the time. When he didn't know what to do with himself, he went to Rhy. That was his first instinct. Had always been. Phillip hadn't expected him to fix anything, not really.

He had just wanted to be held.

When Rhy opened the window to let him in, Phillip could see his lover's expression change in real-time. From happy and excited to see him, to shock, to fear, to worry, and devastation. It was only, then, seeing the despair on Rhy's face, that something shifted inside of himself.

The last of his walls crumbled to dust. Gone was any last sense of control he had tried to hold on to, as he gave himself over completely to Rhy, falling into his arms as he finally, finally allowed himself to cry. He buried his face into Rhy's shoulder and cried, filled it with snot and tears. No shame. No reservations.

Rhy made space for him, as easy as breathing, wrapping him up in his arms, and gently held him in place.

How long had the two of them stayed like this? He had no idea, could only remember the warmth of his body, his own desperately holding on to it.

His last anchor.

It was Rhy who finally broke the silence.

“Phillip...” his voice sounded pained, filled with worry, “What happened?”

“It's my Dad...” there was no use beating around the bush. “He knows. He found out about us.”

Rhy's eyes widened before his expression hardened all at once, understanding coloring his features. He reached out to him, cupping his face in his hands.

“Don't worry,” he said, “I'll take care of it.”

* * *

“Ugh, thanks for coming to the rescue. It's unbearable in there,” he said, as soon as Rhy and he were out of earshot of everyone else, “Ysabel's back on her goddamn bullshit.”

“That sounds rough,” Rhy replied, just as he reached under his arm to help him carry the box he was holding.

“You can say that again. Seriously, I fucking hate her!” Phillip exclaimed, getting more animated by the second, gesturing with his hands. It felt good to have a space to vent about his frustrations for once, “Like, I get that she's pissed, you know – but fucking hell! It's not my fault Dad's a dick. If she's being disinherited that's her goddamn problem, not mine. No reason to take it out on _me_.”

“Sounds like she's a real piece of work.”

“She's a fucking bitch!”

Rhy only nodded, as his expression slowly darkened. “Got it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfiction for The Blank Rune (https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/5aa6ab4500029f4925c9cfc3/1/The-Blank-Rune) which is a German story that takes inspiration from the Hunger Games. The author of the original work is Herania here on AO3 and I highly encourage you to look up their work here as well, if you're into obscure Russian video games. I plan to translate the original fic eventually, but if you speak German and this intrigued you... Please read it <3)


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